Today is the second anniversary of the death of my father. He was only sixty-two when he passed away in 2006. Whenever I think of him, I think of happy memories. He was such a loving, selfless person - a father in the truest sense of the word.

He was always there for me (I’m sure my two brothers would say exactly the same thing), especially during those very significant moments in my childhood - first day in school, fight with other kids, first communion, graduation, even on my first date with my first girlfriend. My father had a healthy sense of humor. He was very optimistic and had always something positive to say about another person. When he returned home from work each day he would bring us pasalubong (bread or candies).

My father was a factory worker. He loved plants and animals, except dogs. He calls his pig and cows by the personal names he gave them. My mother was a full-time homemaker until 1988 and now she tends her own small store. She is such a responsible mother and a loving wife. Both my parents  taught us Christian values, prayer and household chores. As early as our pre-elementary years we already knew how to cook, wash and iron clothes, clean the house, and lead the rosary.

Both my parents were so poor our house has never been completed, even up to now. It is continuously undergoing construction and renovation. In my childhood our house was so small it consisted only of two rooms - a bedroom and a “multi-purpose” room, where you do everything else, like eating, playing, socializing, reading, watching tv, preparing food, etc. Over time more rooms were added. At present it has three bedrooms, a large living room and a separate dining area and kitchen. But when I was a child we slept side by side, usually in this order - father, my younger brother, mother, myself, and my elder brother.

We prayed the rosary every angelus time. Both my parents have deep faith in God. They seemed to spend more time in the church than anywhere else. Papa was a parish lay minister and mama was an active member of many religious organizations like CWL. Every Sunday we’d go to church as a family to attend mass. We had a motorcycle for a ride. I don’t know if you can imagine it, but the five of us could really fit into papa’s Yamaha motorbike.

It was our way life. We were always tight - our house was small and we had a motorbike for a family ride. But this experience of poverty taught me that less is often more. We did not have a big house so we got to bump into each other more. Because we only had little food, we learned to share and to eat together. Because we only had a motorcycle for a ride, we learned to stick together. Because we only had one bedroom, we learned to stay close to each other. Because we did not have a maid, we learned to do things together. Because we could not depend on our own strength we depended on Divine Providence. All those experiences of our own poverty drew us closer together and closer to God.